


THE SCENE

by zacekova



Series: What Came From The Headwater [3]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, First Time, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Porn With Plot, Shirocest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-07 01:07:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26464639
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zacekova/pseuds/zacekova
Summary: Shiro turns to face him, then, eyelashes glittering like stars as his gaze roams from Ro’s face to his feet and back again, slowly darkening with heat. He reaches behind himself and blindly shuts off the water before stalking across the short expanse between them and crowding Ro against the wall.He’s slick and warm all along Ro’s front, looming over him somehow, even though they‘re the same height. Hot lips press against his cheekbone and Ro’s spine stiffens, blood rushing south so fast it leaves his head swimming.An alternate version of the end of chapter 7 of Whitewaters.
Relationships: Kuron/Shiro (Voltron)
Series: What Came From The Headwater [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1147259
Comments: 6
Kudos: 11





	THE SCENE

**Author's Note:**

> When I first started working on Whitewaters, this was the _very first scene_ that I wrote, the one where Shiro and Ro have their confrontation, their reconciliation, but in the original version they had sex. By the time I’d written the majority of the rest of the story, however, I realized that them having sex at that point was a little too soon for the relationship I’d built, it didn’t really fit with the story I was telling anymore, so I cut out the smut and made them talk. But I figured some of you might like this version and it seems a shame to not let any of it see the light of day, and I don’t have the motivation to write their first time in the actual canon story. So here you go. 
> 
> I’ve used the opening and closing portions of what became the final version of this scene since they’re a lot more polished than what I still had in this alternate version, so it’ll look pretty familiar and can be seamlessly inserted into _Whitewaters_.

It’s late when Keith finally leaves and, despite the hours of benign conversation that followed, Ro’s head is still buzzing with everything from the earlier, far more serious discussion. It takes about five minutes to decide he’s not going to be able to get to sleep anytime soon, so he puts his boots on and heads out into the hallway. 

His feet take him to the training deck, back to old habits he’s all but abandoned in the last few weeks; there’s just been so many nights he’s stayed in Shiro’s room and not had any dreams or — when the nightmares  _ have _ come — been soothed back to sleep by Shiro’s quiet reassurances, the warm press of his body against Ro’s, the reminder that he’s not alone. Ro hasn’t needed to find sleep by passing out from sheer exhaustion in what feels like a long time, but it’s been a stressful, endless week and his body is drained and weary and his mind won’t  _ stop _ . It won’t stop replaying Keith’s words and the memory of Shiro’s furious, shattered expression from the bridge on continuous repeat. 

So he strips off his vest, charges up his arm, calls out for the hardest sim level he can manage, and  _ fights _ . 

It’s all he knows for a while — violet quintessence searing through metal limbs and staffs, dodging and running and  _ destroying _ , sweating until his shirt sticks to his chest, until he’s covered in fine nicks and grazes that bleed and sting in time with the vicious, savage violence — because it’s the only way to chase the demons that have reappeared to haunt him  _ away _ .

He doesn’t hear the training deck door open, but a voice calling out “End training sequence,” breaks through the haze and all the gladiators freeze and drop through the floor. 

Ro turns to see and it’s  _ him _ — himself and  _ not _ — and he’s aware enough to know who it really is, that this is nothing like the last time they met like this when Ro had been trapped in a nightmare, but it doesn’t matter. He’s  _ done _ . He can’t do this anymore, he can’t keep waiting for the moment when everything unravels. It doesn’t matter that Ro doesn’t want to do this, doesn’t want to hurt anyone — especially  _ him _ — but he can’t keep living like this, waiting, waiting,  _ waiting _ . Always waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Ro knows that if he starts and doesn’t  _ stop _ that Shiro will have to put him down. He’ll be forced to do what’s necessary to protect the team because they  _ know enough _ , now, and there are no excuses anymore, no future guilty conscience for their great leader to worry about. 

It’s time to end this.

So Ro turns on him with a roar and charges. And he’s  _ not _ malnourished, he’s not nearly as sleep deprived as before — he’s been training for weeks and weeks and  _ weeks _ right at Shiro’s side. But that means Shiro knows him too, and it’s still only mere seconds before Shiro catches Ro around the waist — the same, again, just like the last time — and slams him to the floor. 

And that’s good, it’s exactly what Ro was hoping for, but then Shiro doesn’t do anything, just holds him down and freezes, eyes wide and afraid even as his grip holds like steel. 

Ro twists underneath him, trying to push him up and off, but Shiro wrestles him back down, pinning his legs and fighting to grab his wrists. Ro evades, punching at his head, kicking at his feet and knees and groin. He pulls hair and snarls like a beast, but Shiro just  _ takes  _ it, lets Ro beat at him until his lungs are heaving and pained, and the hardened, fragile shield around his heart starts cracking. 

Ro fists his hands in Shiro’s shirt and  _ shakes _ him. “Just fucking  _ kill me  _ already!” 

Shiro’s face turns white. “I—” he starts, chokes, but Ro doesn’t give him the chance to finish.

“I’m nothing! I’m just a puppet,” Ro says, wanting so badly to look away from the desperate, broken look bleeding into Shiro’s eyes. It  _ hurtsto see _ , and it’s confusing because Shiro’s supposed to be furious with him, but he  _ can’t _ , can’t think about it, can’t worry about it, because he has to make sure Shiro  _ understands _ . “Just— just get rid of me, tell me to leave,  _ something _ . Let me go before I hurt someone.  _ Please _ , Shiro.” 

The fingers of Shiro’s flesh hand dig into Ro’s chest, throat working around a thick swallow as he shakes his head, just once. 

“Let me go!” Ro shouts. 

“No!” Shiro yells, punching the floor by Ro’s shoulder with his Galra hand, the crack loud and jarring. “I won’t!” Shiro continues, his voice quieter and quieter and breaking more with every word. “I’m not letting you go.” 

Ro’s heart seizes, anger and misery and grief and  _ terror _ warring for dominance. Shiro’s words are everything he’s longed to hear from the beginning of this horrible mess, but it’s not enough anymore, not when he finally knows the truth. “I can’t  _ do _ this,” Ro keens. “I can’t live knowing I’m just Haggar’s monster.” 

“If you’re a monster then what am I?” Shiro asks, his voice so broken now that it’s  _ ragged _ . “You haven’t even  _ done  _ anything. I’m the one who’s actually killed people.  _ I’m _ her champion, her monster.” 

“I remember every fucking second of it,” Ro rasps, fist connecting weakly with Shiro’s shoulder again and again and again. “I’m still as fucking  _ capable  _ of it. I’m not even  _ human _ .” 

“I’m not letting you go,” Shiro repeats, and it’s raw and wet and trembling. “I  _ can’t _ .” 

Ro’s heart twists over on itself again and then he tangles his fingers in Shiro’s shirt, wrenches him down, and smashes their lips together. 

There’s no sense to it, hardly any thought behind it. He’d thought Shiro would jump at the opportunity to get rid of him and he doesn’t know what to do now that he’s  _ refusing _ . He’s confused and exhausted and  _ shattered _ , and he just needs Shiro to finally see how truly monstrous he is — that he wants  _ this _ , to kiss the person whose whole identity, whose very  _ life _ , he stole — and end everything. 

But Shiro’s fingers tangle in Ro’s hair, arms wrapping around him warm and secure, and he kisses Ro  _ back _ .

It’s rough, more teeth and tongue than lips; Shiro’s hands press him close and  _ cling _ . There’s just as much  _ need _ transparent in every movement, mirrored in the pulse of the frantically beating heart Shiro has pressed against Ro’s chest, that Ro feels for  _ him _ . It’s slick and harsh and it’s too impossible to be real, it can’t be, Shiro can’t possibly feel this same aching, world-fracturing thing for  _ Ro _ in return. 

But he’s here, his weight pressing Ro down and anchoring him, solid and warm and heavy, and the quickly-emerging tenderness as Shiro pulls away from Ro’s mouth to start kissing his way down Ro’s neck makes Ro wrap his arms around Shiro’s shoulder and  _ sob _ . 

Shiro’s arms curl tight around him, holding close and burying himself in Ro’s neck. 

Tears trail down over Ro’s temples, soaking into his hair and pooling in his ears and he doesn’t care about the discomfort or indignity of it, he doesn’t care because Shiro is here, holding him, shaking minutely in Ro’s arms just as Ro shakes apart in his. It’s terrible and messy and precious all at once. 

There’s a long minute where Ro doesn’t even try to calm down. He has the fleeting thought that he’s earned the right to cry a little, like Coran told him he could, so he does, and Shiro doesn’t say a word, just wait. And when Ro finally pulls in a wobbly breath and blinks away the last few tears, Shiro eases away, gaze flicking back-and-forth between Ro’s eyes. 

“You alright?” he asks. 

Ro huffs and shakes his head. “Not really.”

Shiro watches him carefully for another moment, but then he climbs carefully off of Ro, holding out his hand and pulling him up so they’re seated facing each other. Shiro’s eyes rove over his face, brow pinched with concern, and Ro has to turn away. There’s just  _ too much _ there, too much emotion to confront when he’s already feeling wrung out and even more drained than before. 

“We should get some sleep,” Shiro says, quiet. His fingers tighten around Ro’s briefly before he levers himself up off the floor and tugs on Ro’s hand, coaxing him to his feet. 

Ro follows along silently as he‘s led out of the training deck and toward the Paladins’ quarters, rubbing his free hand over his eyes and hoping the others aren’t around to see him like this. It’s not shame, really — he’s never had as much of an issue showing his emotions like Shiro does — he just doesn’t want to deal with talking to anyone else right now, even if only to say he’s fine; he needs some time to calm down. 

He’s so lost in his head that he doesn’t notice they’ve arrived until the sound of a door sliding open filters its way into his ears. Shiro strides through his bedroom and into the bathroom, Ro’s hand still clutched in his. The lights come on automatically, washing them in the dim blue glow of the evening cycle, and Shiro reaches inside the shower to turn the water on, steam quickly rising up to hover like miniature clouds by the ceiling. He turns back to face Ro and plucks tentatively at the hem of Ro’s shirt, looking up at him cautiously. “Is this okay?” 

It shouldn’t be. Even after Keith’s supportive words, Ro hadn’t been able to shake the feeling that this is _wrong_. It’s part of why he’d snapped — the need to be free of all those uncertainties, those fears.

But Shiro hadn’t let him go.

Shiro had kissed him _back_.

And he’s so, so tired, now, all the rage and terror leaked out on the training deck floor. There’s no fight left in him. So Ro only watches Shiro steadily for a long moment, not really assessing anything, just looking, letting that calm, reassuring aura seep over and settle him a little. “Yeah,” he says, ducking his head with a short nod. “It’s okay.”

Shiro leans forward and rests his nose in Ro’s hair, inhaling slowly, and Ro closes his eyes. 

This… isn’t anything like the casual touches they’ve shared before — the warm press of shoulders and hips and knees on Shiro’s bed or the couch in the lounge. It’s definitely not liek the roughhousing and playful shoves around the castle or in the pool. It’s not even like that heated, impulsive kiss on the training deck a few minutes ago. It’s soft. Tender.  _ Intimate _ , and Ro’s heart squeezes in a way that’s painful and yet perfectly, satisfyingly sweet at the same time. 

Shiro’s flesh hand slips under his shirt, palm hot on Ro’s stomach, and Ro’s breath whooshes out, hands clutching reflexively at Shiro’s side. Slowly, an inch at a time, Shiro’s fingertips slide up Ro’s abdomen, the thumb on his Galra hand rubbing soothing circles where it’s braced against his hip every time his breath hitches. 

“I’m going to take your shirt off, now,” Shiro murmurs, lips brushing against his scalp. 

“Yours too,” Ro murmurs, tugging demonstratively at the fabric tangled in his grip. 

“Okay,” Shiro says, conceding easily. He moves back enough to pull Ro’s shirt up and over his head and drop it on the floor, then waits patiently for Ro to do the same with his. His gaze is soft, patient, but there’s a heat lurking in there somewhere that sears Ro’s skin even when he’s not looking up to see it. 

Ro tangles his fingers in black cloth and eases it up Shiro’s torso, the two of them lifting their arms together to slip the shirt free, and Ro’s eyes are drawn to the scarred expanse of skin that mirrors his own. 

He’s beautiful. 

Ro runs his hands from Shiro’s shoulders down to his fingertips, feeling the contour of muscle and bone, the strength and confidence that seeps out from Shiro’s very core, and leans in to press a kiss against the remnants of a burn along Shiro’s collarbone. 

Shiro exhales and tightens his grip on Ro’s hips before sliding his palms inward, moving to undo his belt and giving him a small smile. “Come on. We should get cleaned up.” 

Ro nods, straightening up to press the sides of their heads together briefly, before reaching down for Shiro’s belt to undo the clasp. 

Crouching down, Shiro tugs Ro’s pants and briefs to his ankles, helping him pull out first one foot and then the other, before peeling off his own remaining clothes and adding them to the pile on the floor. He grabs hold of Ro’s hand again and pulls him into the shower, sliding the door closed behind them. 

The enclosed space is already full of steam and the heat immediately starts seeping into Ro’s aching muscles and easing the tension. He groans, tipping his head forward in the spray and letting the water pound on his shoulders and run down his back in warm rivulets. Shiro’s hands come to rest against his neck, hot and soothing, and then his thumbs start massaging into his flesh in delicious circles, making Ro groan again. 

Shiro’s hands move away for a moment and come back slippery with soap. He works his fingers through Ro’s hair, rubbing at his scalp and sweeping loose strands back from his face. It’s so relaxing Ro’s knees start to buckle and he has to throw a hand against the wall to brace himself. 

There’s a deep chuckle from behind and Shiroo sidles close and wraps an arm around Ro’s waist, pressing hot and slick all along Ro’s back. “I’ve thought about doing this for you so many times,” he rumbles, barely audible over the rush over water. “Ever since Pidge decrypted those druid logs, I couldn’t even  _ look at you _ without wanting to lock you in here and take care of you.” 

Ro tips his head back and lays his hands over Shiro’s, shutting his eyes and taking in a steadying breath, pushing away the last of his reservations about  _ them _ , the ones Keith apparently has talked him out of having. And there’s probably —  _ definitely _ — things they still need to talk about, but maybe it can all just… wait a while. “You can take care of me now,” Ro murmurs. 

Shiro’s arms tighten around his waist again and he buries his face into Ro’s neck with a choked laugh. “Yeah. Yeah I want to,” he says, resting there for a long moment. Eventually, he pulls away and reaches for the soap, beginning to scrub Ro from head to toe with a calloused palm and metal fingers. 

Ro lets him, stands loose and quiet as Shiro moves him around and wipes him clean, lets himself be pushed back under the water to rinse off while Shiro soaps himself up. They trade places silently and Ro leans against the wall and watches. 

Water streams down Shiro’s body, a little sudsy at first, before it starts to run clear silver and blue in the glow of the lights. Sinuous rivers snake down the narrow valley of his spine and thick, muscular thighs, and back ripples as he turns around and slicks his hair back, scrubbing his hands over his face. 

Ro’s heart hammers, entranced by the show Shiro doesn’t even realize he’s putting on. He’s just so damn beautiful without even trying. 

Shiro turns to face him, then, eyelashes glittering like stars as his gaze roams from Ro’s face to his feet and back again, slowly darkening with heat. He reaches behind himself and blindly shuts off the water before stalking across the short expanse between them and crowding Ro against the wall. 

He’s slick and warm all along Ro’s front, looming over him somehow, even though they‘re the same height. Hot lips press against his cheekbone and Ro’s spine stiffens, blood rushing south so fast it leaves his head swimming. 

The brush of skin — light and torturous and tantalizingly close but still too  _ far _ from where he wants it — has Ro’s body screaming for him to close the last centimeter of space between them. 

But before he can even lift a hand in response, Shiro’s gone, slipping out the shower door in a wash of cooler air. 

Ro’s breath whooshes out — a pent-up breath he hadn’t even realized he was holding — and he sags, tipping his face up toward the ceiling.  _ God _ , Shiro is going to kill him, slowly but surely. 

He tilts his head to the side, watching with interest as Shiro rubs the towel over himself with brisk efficiency, pausing at the door to shoot Ro a glance over his shoulder with a sharp, sultry grin before he disappears into the bedroom. 

_ Fuck.  _

_ Shit _ . 

_ Fuck _ , Ro’s not reading this wrong, is he? He  _ can’t _ be, Shiro is basically broadcasting his interest through a goddamn  _ megaphone _ , but it’s too sudden, maybe too fast; Ro’s hardly let himself accept his own interest, let alone consider whether Shiro  _ shares it _ . 

_ God _ , why is Ro even so nervous about this in the first place? Sure, his physical body has never done anything like this before, but he sure as hell has memories of doing it. Or is it just because this is Shiro? 

_ Fuck _ . 

Eventually, he levers himself off the wall and starts drying himself off, spending a long minute staring down at the pile of dirty clothes and trying to decide if he should put them back on. Would it be presumptuous to walk in there completely naked? After all, if Shiro doesn’t… doesn’t  _ want to _ , then he’ll probably just hand Ro a clean set of clothes and send him on his way. 

But... he won’t. Ro’s not an idiot and there’s no way he’s reading this wrong, and even if he is, he… he trusts Shiro not to hurt him.

So he steps over the pile of clothes and strides out into the bedroom, trying to ignore the flutter in his stomach in favor of remembering the way his blood had burned when Shiro crowded him against the shower wall. 

He finds Shiro sitting on his bed, hunched over and staring down at his hands where they’re hanging between his knees. He glances up when Ro walks in and huffs out a laugh. “You would think I’d never done this before.” 

Ro’s heart clenches with equal parts sympathy and relief and he steps forward and drops down onto his knees between Shiro’s legs. He snags one of Shiro’s hands and presses it against the rapid pounding in his own chest, mirroring Shiro’s wry expression.

Shiro’s stares at the space beneath their clasped hands for a long moment, eyes widening briefly before they go soft. His fingertips curl lightly against Ro’s skin, warm and affectionate. “I guess we’re both nervous,” he quips, looking up at Ro’s face with a smile. 

“Terrified,” Ro chuckles, tightening his fingers around Shiro’s. 

Shiro’s gaze flicks back-and-forth between his eyes, brow furrowed, and then he curls his free hand around Ro’s elbow and tugs. “C’mere. Come up here.” 

Ro is more than happy to comply, following Shiro as he scoots back to rest against the head of the bed and sinking down onto his lap. 

Shiro’s hands cup his face, thumbs stroking along his cheeks and staring up at him with something like adoration. “Still gonna let me take care of you?” he asks. 

Ro wraps his fingers around Shiro’s wrists and thumbs the back of his hands. “Yeah,” he breathes, tilting his face into the touch. 

Shiro’s gaze drops to his mouth and darkens, and he pulls Ro’s face down close enough for their breaths to mingle. “Last chance,” he whispers, and all Ro wants is for him to close the last inch of space between them, so he does it himself. 

Shiro’s lips are soft, pressing against his own so, so gently and Ro wonders how anything could possibly be better than this. It feels like flying, heart soaring and fingers tingling and the world falling away in a blur. It’s a heady, overwhelming rush and it’s so much, too much, and he has to pull back just to remember how to breathe. “ _ Shiro _ .” 

Shiro’s fingers tighten against his cheeks, his eyes so dark and deep and  _ full _ . “ _ Ro _ . God, Ro, c’mere. C’mere, I  _ need _ —“ 

This kiss is still chaste and warm, but needier, hungrier, and Ro whines high in his throat, hands grasping for something,  _ anything _ to hold onto. He clutches at Shiro’s sides, fingers digging in like they’ll float apart if he doesn’t cling to him with all his might, and he doesn’t know where this is coming from, this need to stay close and not let go, but he can’t stop. 

Shiro seems just as helpless, tangling his fingers in Ro’s hair and pushing his way into Ro’s mouth with a desperate whimper. His tongue is hot and slick and sweeps its way in like it belongs there. 

Ro rocks his hips, dragging his hardening cock along Shiro’s and drawing out a groan from deep in his chest. His heart is hammering so hard he thinks it might break right through his ribcage and he tears away from Shiro’s mouth with a gasp. “ _ God _ , Shiro.” 

Shiro pulls him back down, resting their foreheads together and sharing the same air, both of them panting for breath. “You’re beautiful, Ro, so goddamn beautiful.” 

And that’s just… something. In a strange, almost sick sort of way it makes sense for Ro to think Shiro is gorgeous. He’s  _ real _ , he’s the original, the body and soul that even an evil witch thought was worthy of replicating. But how could Shiro ever look at his copy, his imperfect duplicate, and think  _ beautiful _ ? But Shiro’s eyes are shining with adoration, so sincere it takes Ro’s breath away, and how can he  _ not _ believe him? 

So Ro just kisses him again, smashing their mouths together in a messy, glorious tangle, and Shiro moans and pulls him in even closer until there isn’t even an inch of space between them. He slides his hands down Ro’s spine and over the swell of his ass, thrusting up against him. 

Ro’s groans into Shiro’s mouth, trying to decide if he wants to grind down against Shiro’s cock or press back into the hot, strong hands on his ass, and ends up just rutting erratically, no finesse or direction. 

Shiro’s flesh hand sneaks lower, fingertips pressing against his entrance, and Ro keens, pressing his face against Shiro’s neck and mouthing at his collarbone. “Can I?” he asks, finger circling slowly. 

Ro swallows, throat dry, and manages a shaky nod, clutching at Shiro’s shoulders with white knuckles. 

Shiro presses a kiss to the slope of his shoulder, wrapping the Galra arm around Ro’s waist to steady him as he leans over to rummage in the draw at his bedside. There’s a quiet click of something snapping closed a moment later and Shiro’s hand comes back to his entrance coated in something slippery and cool. 

The touch makes Ro tense, suddenly all too aware of what he’s doing and with  _ who _ , but Shiro just lingers there for a moment, nosing at Ro’s neck and dragging his lips with maddening friction along his jaw. 

“We can stop whenever you want, whenever you need to, if you need to,” he rumbles. 

Ro breathes and holds onto it for a moment, willing the oxygen to make him relax. “You would think I’d never done this before,” he huffs out, wry and faintly amused as he echoes Shiro’s earlier words. 

Shiro chuckles, still nuzzling around in his hair and against his skin. “Don’t worry about it. Just tell me what you want.” 

He thinks it over for a minute, over his —  _ Shiro’s,  _ rather — memories of doing this in the past, over the way his blood rushed in his veins from Shiro’s touch, so much hotter and fiercer and  _ more _ than anything he’d ever felt before, over they way he‘s still hard and  _ wanting _ even after his bout of nerves. Over the way Shiro is still so patient and attentive and overflowing with the need to do whatever  _ Ro _ needs, and yeah. Yeah, he still wants this. 

He shifts a bit, relishing the catch in Shiro’s breath as their cocks rub together, and presses back against Shiro’s hand. “I’m okay.” 

“You sure?” Shiro asks, once more sliding his finger in smooth, steady strokes. 

Ro sighs and rocks back into the touch. “Yeah,” he breathes, “yeah, I’m sure.” 

Shiro doesn’t waste any more time, pressing his finger inside of Ro up to the first knuckle. “You alright?” he asks, sliding his finger out and slowly pushing back in. 

“Yeah,” Ro gasps, pushing back until Shiro’s finger slides all the way in. “Just like that.” Shiro’s finger keeps pumping in and out, slow and slick and  _ hot _ and Ro can’t keep from rocking against it again and again, whimpers and gasps slipping past his lips in an endless stream. 

Shiro groans, rolling his forehead against Ro’s shoulder. “God,  _ listen _ to you,” murmurs, slipping in another finger and pushing deep, searching for Ro’s sweet spot methodically until the moment he finds it and Ro jerks. 

What had been a slow, mad burn, flares to glorious life,  _ need _ swallowing him up as Shiro’s strokes become forceful and pointed and  _ perfect _ . His blood is a racing fire, cock dripping and lungs heaving and heart pounding. “Shiro,” Ro pants, sweaty palms sliding against Shiro’s flexing shoulders. “Shiro,  _ please _ .” 

“Tell me what you want, Ro,” Shiro whispers, nipping at his ear.

He can barely think through the haze of pleasure — anything but Shiro’s skin against his, the pounding of his pulse and Shiro’s, that sweet friction inside him, is nothing but a blur of color and light. His own frantic breaths are loud in his ears and nothing seems to matter more than getting Shiro as close to him as possible. “You,” he gasps. “Inside me.” 

Shiro groans, his Galra hand moving to cup Ro’s chin and tilt his face up so he can devour Ro’s mouth in a searing, hungry kiss, before pulling back to say, “Yes. Yes, I can do that.” He pulls his hand out with a wet sound and the sudden emptiness makes Ro whine. But Shiro is already slicking himself from root to tip and shifting Ro’s hips to line them up. “You ready?” 

Ro nods, pressing his face into Shiro’s neck again. “Just go slow.” 

Shiro nods and then grips his cock in one hand and urges Ro to sink down onto it with the other, his chest already starting to heave beneath Ro’s hands. 

It’s good.  _ Fuck _ it’s good. Shiro pushes inside of him so, so slowly, waiting for Ro to relax, to naturally sink down a little further before easing in a bit more, just past that new threshold. The heat and pressure is almost overwhelming and Ro’s thighs are  _ quivering _ as he helps lower himself down the last inch or two with a low, wanton moan. 

And then he’s in up to the hilt, balls pressed against Ro’s ass, and Ro can only close his eyes and breathe for a minute. 

_ Fuck _ … This is really happening. Shiro… Shiro  _ wants _ him, Shiro wants to be  _ with _ him, and now they’re as close as it’s possible for two people to be. 

His throat tightens, eyes stinging with the sudden urge to cry, and he threads his fingers through Shiro’s hair and  _ clings _ . 

“Ro?” Shiro asks, somehow catching the shift in his mood instantly and his hands start rubbing soothingly over his back. “You alright?” 

“I love you,” Ro blurts, heart racing and breath caught in his chest as soon as he realizes.

Shiro freezes, body completely still for a long, breathless moment, and then his arms cinch tight and tug Ro even closer. “I love you, too,” he breathes. “I love you so much, Ro.” He pulls back almost immediately, searching for Ro’s mouth and delving into it hungrily. 

Ro melts into the kiss, swept along by Shiro’s passion and feeling his own need surge up to almost desperate levels. “Shiro,” he groans, starting to rock his hips and nearly keening at how good it feels. “ _ Shiro _ , come on.” 

Shiro’s hands clutch at Ro’s hips and lift him up, almost all the way off. They both groan, Ro’s body protesting the loss by clenching around the tip of Shiro’s cock, trying to pull him back inside. Ro braces his hands on Shiro’s shoulders and slowly sinks back down, the muscles in his thighs starting to burn from the effort. He keeps it slow, steady, the tip of his cock brushing against Shiro’s abdomen with every thrust and making him gasp. 

Shiro is  _ gorgeous  _ beneath him, lips red and slick from their hungry kisses, muscles rippling with every thrust, and his damp hair plastered over his forehead with sweat. “Ro, god Ro, you’re perfect,” he groans, fingers pressing bruises into Ro’s hips. “So hot and tight, just like that, come on. You’re doing so good.” 

Ro flushes, thrown for a moment by the rush of heat Shiro’s words send through him, and he loses his rhythm. But before he can start up again, Shiro braces his heels on the bed, tugs Ro down, and  _ thrusts _ , slamming into him. 

Ro gasps, wrapping his arms around Shiro’s shoulders and holding on as Shiro sets a frenzied, breathless pace. His heart is pounding, blood rushing to his dick and, somehow, he manages to slip his hand down between them to wrap around his cock, trying to rut up into his own fist and down onto Shiro’s cock at the same time. 

“Are you close?” Shiro asks, voice deep and strained, and when Ro nods he shifts his hips until he finds ro’s prostrate, grinning when Ro shouts and relentlessly pounding against that spot  _ just so. _

It’s barely a minute later before Ro is  _ gone _ , coming with a choked cry. He feels Shiro’s rhythm falter, his thrusts erratic and his hands on Ro’s hips possessive, and then Shiro shudders beneath him with a high, needy whine. 

The slump together, panting and sweaty and sated. Once he’s got his breath back, Ro lifts his hips enough for Shiro’s cock to slip free with a slick sound, and then proceeds to press a bunch of wet, lazy kisses on Shiro’s neck, trailing along his jaw and up to his mouth and licking the seam of his lips. 

Shiro’s mouth parts with a contented sigh, massaging Ro’s aching hips with gentle hands. “I love you,” he says again, murmuring it quietly between kisses. 

Ro pulls back and rests their foreheads together, cupping Shiro’s face in his hands. His throat is tight, eyes burning, “I never even let myself imagine you could ever feel the same way about me that I feel about you. I didn’t think it was possible.” 

Shiro’s hands tighten and he presses his forehead up against Ro’s, their noses brushing together. “It was the same for me. We’re… it all just seemed too bizarre. It didn’t matter how… how  _ right _ it felt to me, it didn’t make any sense for you to feel the same, especially not after how I treated you in the beginning.” 

Ro presses his face into Shiro’s neck, a few stray tears smearing over his skin, and his breath shudders on the way out. “I— I never blamed you. Your reaction was totally justified. I’d just— I’d hoped for something different and it hurt.” 

“I know it did, and I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner,” Shiro says, hushed. “But I have to ask… Why didn’t you leave? You wouldn’t have had to endure… all this.” 

Ro pulls back a little, wiping at his face. “Would  _ you _ have been able to leave?” 

Shiro falls silent at that, eyes going hazy as he gets lost in imagining for a moment. “No… No I guess I wouldn’t have.” 

“This is home,” Ro says, tangling his fingers in Shiro’s shirt. “It’s my  _ life _ . If any of you had asked me to leave, if you’d  _ made _ me, I would have left without a fight. But I couldn’t walk away.” 

Shiro nods. “Yeah. I understand. So then, what am I to you? I know we just had sex and confessed our love and everything, but I think we need to work on our communication skills,” he says, a bit wryly. “So, for clarity’s sake.” 

It takes a minute for Ro to sort through his thoughts, to find the right words, even though they’re still messy, confusing. He doesn’t think it matters, though,the whole situation is messy and confusing anyway. “It— It’s different, obviously, because you’re not him, but… it’s like Lance. It’s like it is with Lance. And I want us to be like what we both wanted with Lance.” 

Shiro’s chest expands with a hasty inhale within the circle of Ro’s arms before gushing out with a breathless, “You’re sure?” 

Ro chuckles, thinking back on all the moments of sweating palms and butterflies that started making much more sense in hindsight, once he realized. He remembers that four letter word Keith used, and how it had resonated with him, even if he hadn’t quite been able to say it himself yet. “Yeah, I’m sure.” 

Shiro moves his arm up to wrap around Ro’s neck, curling him even closer, and turning his head to press a kiss on Ro’s temple. “Me too,” he murmurs, lips brushing feather-light. 

Ro closes his eyes and leans into him, knowing Shiro can take the weight, and feels his lips curling up in a tiny, genuine smile. And then they just sit there, holding each other and soaking in the warmth, the comfort, for a few minutes until Ro’s aching thighs can’t take it anymore. He eases up with a pained groan and flops over onto his side. “We need to get cleaned up.” 

Shiro bends over and presses a kiss to his cheek. “I’ll take care of it.” 

Ro makes a pleased hum of his own and let his eyes drift shut, shifting his legs compliantly when Shiro comes back with a damp cloth a minute later. 

Shiro wipes him clean and there’s a rustle of cloth as he throws it in the hamper. He tugs the blankets out from under Ro’s body and slides into the bed, pulling the covers over them and snuggling close. “Are you gonna stay?” he asks, hardly above a whisper in the dark, quiet room. 

Ro nods, pressing his face against Shiro’s heartbeat and slinging his arm over Shiro’s waist. “I won’t leave if you don’t,” he says, knowing Shiro will hear the weight of it beyond spending the night. 

The back of Shiro’s flesh hand sweeps from temple to chin and he feels a kiss pressed into his hair. “Guess we’re stuck with each other, then,” Shiro says, and Ro falls asleep to the bright, joyful, brilliantly happy lilt in his voice. 

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on [Tumblr](https://zacekova.tumblr.com/). Feel free to scream at me about this fic, ask questions, request prompts (for this universe or something new).


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